A Night With The Woman
by J. Puddles
Summary: After Sherlock is woken by The Woman, he finds himself under the stars with her. 3-Part Fic.
1. Chapter 1

A female voice once again erotically moaned from Sherlock's phone.

'Oh for…' Sherlock began but somehow stopped himself from saying anything further. He had fallen asleep on Mrs. Hudson's sofa in the living room and knew that, even without any full deductions of his, sound travelled much further at night, more so through the thin walls of the flat –something he had found out with a late night with John.  
Reaching into his pyjama trouser pocket he retrieved his phone and cursed quietly at the phone when the bright, glaring light struck his eyes. He knew it was from her due to the text tone, and from the time of night it was, as John could bang on the wall, and Mrs. Hudson shout. Lestrade, well, the blues and tu's would be outside, and Mycroft? Let's not worry about him, as they had fallen out after Sherlock had failed to deduce that his 'playful' older brother had put vinegar in his lemonade during a meal sometime last week.

'Meet me in the park, at the fountain. Be there for half past.' IA

'Why?' SH.  
Sherlock couldn't figure out that woman. So being asked to meet in her the middle of the night, at the fountain had better have a good reason.

There was an immediate response, as if Irene had been expecting that response from Sherlock.  
'Trust me. Please bring a blanket and drink'.' IA.

'Anything else?' SH. His texting speed had gradually quickened as his body de-numbed itself from its sleep state.

'Just those. And yourself ;) ' IA.

Sherlock wasn't happy, as this was the third night running that he had been woken by the woman. He had put on John's brown shoes had his famous black coat and headed out to the park, after collecting the blanket and a flask of tea from John's emergency stash in the kitchen. Sherlock was trying to get into his mind palace whilst running there, as it was nearing half eleven, which made him more or less completely unobservant to his current reality. Despite his retreatment into his mind palace, and thus his unobserventness of the current reality, there was, he had noted, an increase of people outside, despite the time. His text alert suddenly sounded again, which gave him numerous dirty looks. 'Sorry, a friend did it. I don't know how to change it' he announced. They had better buy that he thought. Strictly speaking, it was true, although he didn't know whether to class Irene as a friend or not.


	2. Chapter 2

'Are you still at the fountain?' Sherlock sent as he reached the park gate.

'Yes' IA.

He navigated himself as best as he could under the clear, moon lit sky to the fountain.

'Where are you? I'm at the fountain.' SH

'Go to the other one!' IA

Sherlock ran to the other fountain jumping over benches and leap-frogging bins when they were in his way. Why move yourself when the obstacle isn't really in the way, he thought. To anyone who saw him, and there were a few, it must have looked like he had never heard of going around things.

Sherlock reached the clearing where the fountain was and came across a solitude figure sitting on the stone wall with her feet on the wall too, and her heeled shoes, presumably on the floor next to her, as he couldn't see them due to her shadow.

Putting a balled hand up to his lips, he gently cleared his lips "Miss Adler?"

He knew it was her, as this was the only other fountain in the park, and the other fountain had no one near it. He also knew it was her as her hair was down and her body position was held hers – something only Sherlock had ever seen in Irene.

"You found me then?" She uttered this as a question as she turned her head around and cocked it to the side, smiling.

"Evidently so." Sherlock's voice was monotone. He wasn't amused, nor in the mood to play any games of hers, especially at this godforsaken hour. "You look… different" he added. And she did, but she was impossible for him. He couldn't figure her out.

"And you're in your pyjama's" she retorted. "You really know how to flatter me don't you", she chuckled gently.  
"Enough for you to keep texting and ringing me, yes. What did you want me for?" he enquired.

"It's a clear night" This was Irene's response. This was why Sherlock found her confusing. She avoided the question and changed the topic completely.

"So?"

"The stars are out" Irene had got up at this point and was walking towards Sherlock. Sherlock remained stationary, as if he was glued to the ground.

"I can see" Sherlock was getting impatient. What _did_ she want him for?

"You're very sociable this evening Mr Holmes." Irene had now entered Sherlock's personal boundary and was slipping her hands into his pyjama pockets, and pulled out his hands entwining their fingers and then slowly began rubbing her thumb against his hand. She began walking, and thus leading a reluctant Sherlock to the fountain when he spoke again.

"Why do you want me out here?"

"Because…" her reply dwindling into nothing. The truth was she just wanted to see him, but she couldn't admit that to him. Not now, anyway. Surely he could figure that out? As she trailed off she leaned closer into him and stood on her tiptoes, planting a small kiss on his right cheek.

"NO!" He exclaimed roughly, pulling away viciously. "I'm not here for that" He declared clearly, yet this time, quietly. But he felt that there was something 'wrong' with that kiss. It was sincere. It held raw emotion in it, rather than paid emotion, something he had had from her before. 'It's like she's two people', he stated adamantly in his head. A dominant, sex-hungry woman with sharp features when her hair is tied up, and a passionate, tender and caring young woman who is yearning to be loved when her hair is down.

Irene was not deterred completely, but she took a step back. Pressing her fingers gently on his pyjama shirt she walked circles around him. When she touched the small of his back he subtly moved the weight, and then stood corrected again. "I see you've brought the items I wanted."

She said, gaining Sherlock's eye contact.  
"We're not?"  
"Unless you want to."  
"No…" Sherlock trailed off and then brought himself back "Not today."  
"Then we won't."  
"Good" Sherlock managed to say. It came out as a half-whisper. "Are we staying here?" Sherlock added, he didn't realise his response could have been offensive, even slightly, until after the sound had escaped his lips.  
"Yes. It's a clear night, the stars are out and we're in the clearing," Irene said taking the blanket which was rolled up and positioned under Sherlock's arm, in a position that one typically does with a rugby ball.

Laying the blanket out on the floor beside the fountain, she was constantly eyeing up Sherlock seeing where he was standing, and how. Putting her shoes onto two of the blanket corners, as if to act as weight against the breeze-free night, she went over to Sherlock again and led him to it. Once they had both sat down – as far away as possible as the blanket would permit, Irene spoke again.

"The flask?" She enquired.  
Sherlock reached into his coat pocket and pulled it out placing it halfway between them.

"I'm sorry if you thought it was serious – me waking you up. It was wrong of me." Irene said softly, shuffling herself across the blanket closer to Sherlock, and moving her hand to his. "I didn't know that you'd be asleep at this time" She had caught his hand now hand started to caress it again.  
"What about yesterday, and the day before?"  
"I thought they would have been… nice wake up texts?" Irene hadn't got a response, not a wholly justified one. She wasn't supposed to form attachments to people, not in her mind anyway. But she just wanted to talk to Sherlock. She craved his intelligence. His mind. If she couldn't _be_ him, being _with_ him was the next best thing.


	3. Chapter 3

"What are we doing here Irene?" He asked after a few moments in silence. In those silent moments he had also picked up the flask and put it to one side and had lain down on the blanket, Irene had done likewise, they were laying so Sherlock's head was on Irene's stomach.  
"Just look up. If there's anything I've got to tell you: just simply look up, up to the sky" Irene said quietly. "You'll know if you're been paying attention of forecasts this last week." She knew Sherlock would have paid attention to the _weather_ forecasts, but not perhaps this sort of forecast – although it was often found on the same page. In fact, it could just be seen as propaganda with it pasted on every page you went to.

Sherlock inhaled deeply and then spoke. "It's the night sky. There's no clouds meaning it's a clear night. There's a lot of people out? Perhaps that means that there is a party? No, it's like the whole of London is out. Well, not whole, I'd say just over 50% are either out or hidden behind their windows. Alien invasion. Haha! I do make myself laugh. That's impossible, there's no such thing. Look, I'm digressing. Irene said the sky. It's a clear night, no clouds. Light pollution, but that's London for you. She also mentioned that the stars are out. Why the stars. Why the sky. Why not on earth! Sky. Stars. Sky. Stars. Sky. Stars. Stars. Urgh!" Sherlock paused for a second when something in the sky flickered.

"Meteors!" He shouted out loud, and then clamped his hands over his mouth as he didn't realise how loud he was. Irene laughed when he shouted it out and laughed more when he came to the realisation of how loud he actually was – more so because of his so off tendencies.

"You brought me here to show me the stars? To show me meteors?" Sherlock was angry but he didn't want to be too angry with her.  
"Just call them by their more common name, shooting stars, Sherlock."  
There was a silence between them before Irene spoke again.  
"Sherlock. I wanted you to come here so we could sit, or lay beneath the sky and watch the stars. They're more prominent this evening, we'll have to wait another year for this to happen again."  
"We'll?" Sherlock was confused. Why had Irene used the word 'we'll', rather than wording it as 'I'll have to wait another year.'

"If you want," Irene had placed her hands on his head and was ruffling his hair and daintily tracing her fingers across his face.  
"Will it stop you from texting me day and night?" He said, looking up at her.  
"Maybe" Irene smirked.


End file.
